Please, Darling
by epicpickleninja
Summary: Eames needs help on a job. There's really only one person he'd call. And there's really only one person who'd drop everything to help him.


"Please, Arthur," Eames, honest to God, whined through the phone.

"You're a fucking conman," Arthur hissed, deliberately ignoring his team's surreptitious glances across the warehouse. Dreamsharers were the worse gossips. Arthur stood up from of his chair. "Pull yourself together."

"Darling, I'm desperate."

"You're always desperate." Zoe, the Extractor, cocked an eyebrow at him. Arthur ignored her.

"Harsh and untrue."

Arthur closed the door behind him. "Prague."

"That was _one_ time."

Arthur arched an eyebrow. He was sure Eames could sense it. "Alberquerque, Dubai, Dublin—"

"That wasn't a request for you to list more examples, darling."

"It was implied," Arthur said.

"It was not—wait, you weren't listing times I requested your assistance in bloody alphabetical order by city, were you?"

"I'm thorough and organized, Mr. Eames, I thought you realized that."

"Is that how all your bloody mental lists go? You just have a grocery list of—"

"Focus."

"So impatient, pet," Eames said. The amount of fondness in his voice was unnecessary, especially when compared to his initial loud— _desperate_ —tone.

"Eames..."

"I need your help."

"So I gathered."

"I couldn't help but notice you're operating in Quebec at the moment," Eames said, teasing note leaving his voice.

"We're not after the same mark," Arthur said.

"You're not keeping tabs on me, are you? Darling, I didn't know you cared."

Arthur rolled his eyes, a slight smirk spreading on his face. "Of course not. You know how thoroughly I research a job. If another Dreamshare team was running one, I'd know."

"Or that's what I want you to think."

"Mr. Eames, why does my Quebec location affect the fact you're in Montreal?"

"You are keeping tabs on me," Eames said triumphantly.

"Because I was under the impression you needed my help."

"I never knew you cared."

"Desperately."

"That's false actually. You've always been fond of me."

"Crucially."

"You just can't hide it from me, darling."

"I want to assume time is of the essence..."

"You like me. Even my paisley shirts."

"Your paisley shirts can burn," Arthur snapped.

"Just had to ensure I had your attention," Eames said in an unbelievably innocent voice.

"You had my attention since you rang. It's how professionals operate the phone."

"You say the most flattering things."

"You won't be able to distract me from the fact your persuasive technique was begging," Arthur said, smirking at the silence on the other end of the phone. "It's disconcerting a conman of your caliber resorts to that tactic so soon. I feel like I should warn other Point Men of your newest transgression."

Eames scoffed. "Like you care about other Point Men."

"I care," Arthur said. "We have to look after each other after all. Besides, other Point Men need all the help they can get."

"Ah there's the Arthorian cockiness."

"Cockiness backed by fact," Arthur disputed. "And your personal experience. Based purely off your complaints when you work with other Point Men, of course."

"Hank Lutherson couldn't find his ass with a map," Eames said heatedly.

"Lutherson is an accountant now," Arthur said. "Calm down. I didn't mean to dredge up the ghosts of Point Men past."

"Which ghost is Lutherson?" Eames mused. "Which ghost are _you_?"

"The ghost that almost kills you if you don't _get to the point_."

"Darling, you sound tense."

" _Eames_."

"I need your help."

"I fucking know that."

"Our Point Man skipped out the job early," Eames said in a rush. "We're supposed to do the job in two days. Everything is prepped Arthur. _Two months of work_. Our Point was the Architect for the first level."

Arthur remained silent. He kept tabs on most of his colleagues, Eames knew that. So Arthur knew about the high profile mark Eames was after. The same high profile mark who bankrupted thousands of his employees and had enough money to manipulate the justice system. Eames needed to find leverage—physical, _authentic_ evidence—against the mark. And the mark didn't grow a multibillion dollar company through idiocy and incompetency. He knew how to cover his tracks and what prices to pay.

"I know you're on a job. I know you despise going into a job blind. I know you hate other Point Men's sloppy seconds. But Arthur, I need you. You're the only one I know who can hold a dream and make themselves an asset even with little preparation. You're the only one competent enough and close enough to get here in time."

"I'm glad my location is convenient for you," Arthur said dryly, his mind already racing. Eames' window to find evidence was narrowing with the looming court date. Eames and his Extractor needed to act now. Of course, the third member leaving so soon before the actual abduction and dreaming—Arthur made a mental note to track down Dwight Ethan, the Point Man/Architect—completely screwed up the original plans. They needed a fill-in last week. Arthur glanced at his always-prepared travel bag. His team could survive him leaving for a couple days. They were still in the very beginnings of their job.

Eames took a deep breath. "You're the only one I trust Arthur."

Arthur blinked at Eames' quiet tone. Eames was loud, confident, even when he wasn't—especially when he wasn't. The vulnerability made Arthur want to annihilate everything that made Eames suffer (which probably is not the best, most productive reaction) and squeezed his chest with a warm gush of feeling Arthur rarely felt like analyzing.

Eames misunderstood his silence. "Please, darling. There's no one else I trust to do this. Darling, you're the most competent, meticulous, ruthless, goal-orientated, precise, skilled—"

"I'm going to help," Arthur interrupted. "I decided that within the first few minutes after you first called."

The pause was very gratifying. "And you bloody made me wait."

Arthur grinned at the irritation that badly hid Eames' smile. "I had to after that awful opener."

"I'm glad someone is here to keep me in line," Eames said dryly.

"I'll be sure to remind you of that."

"Thanks for looking out for me." The flippancy did not make it any less sincere.

"Someone has to."

Eames hummed. "What about your job?"

"We just started," Arthur shrugged. "They can afford to spare me for a couple days."

"I hardly see how anyone can spare you. Things fall into chaos when you're not around to supervise."

"It's funny how you say that like I don't know," Arthur said. "I'm taking you with me when I leave. I don't trust you left to your own devices."

"Darling, you're going to make me believe you're concerned about my wellbeing."

"More like I'm worried about your unsupervised choice of professional company," Arthur retorted mildly.

"I wait eagerly for you in Montreal," the Forger said. "And Arthur...thanks. Sincerely. I owe you one."

"You owe me quite a bit, Mr. Eames," Arthur said. "I feel like I should make a tab."

"You haven't already made a tab?" Eames asked. "That's a surprising amount of languidity from you, darling. I'm used to you hammering out every unnecessary detail."

"Do I need to list the unnecessary details that saved your life in the past?"

Eames huffed a short laugh. "I take it back. Of course you have a list prepared for this specific situation...Your planning is almost impressive."

"I'm just efficient about it, Mr. Eames," Arthur said.

"Oh?"

"Mhmm. I have many lists prepared for when you argue back unnecessarily."

"Should I feel flattered with the special treatment?"

"Probably."

Eames snorted. "Someone has to keep you humble, darling."

"That is not the argument," Arthur protested. "Don't attempt to deflect."

"It might not be our current argument, but it's an essential duty in the Dreamshare world."

"I'm humble enough."

"Are you?" Eames asked. "I didn't know humble was in your vocabulary."

"I'll see you in three hours," Arthur said as goodbye. Fucking irritating Forger. Irritating Forger who needed his help, which Arthur had a tendency of giving with little thought of his current situation, but still. Fucking irritating Forger. He hefted his bag on his shoulder and entered the main warehouse floor.

Zoe's eyes flickered towards Arthur. "Leaving?"

"Yes," Arthur said, adding his laptop to his bag and then briskly zipping it up, "I'll be back in two or three days. I'm bringing back a Forger."

The Architect and Chemist gawked, but Zoe's face brightened. "Oh, you're going to help Eames. That makes more sense."

Arthur nodded, frowning. "What?"

Zoe waved her hands dismissively. "Your half of the phone conversation makes a lot more sense."

"You only heard the very beginning."

"I did. There are very people can make you exponentially less tense within a few seconds," Zoe said, flashing a grin at Arthur's befuddlement. "And you rolled your eyes within ten seconds so really that narrows it down quite a bit."

You over analyze things, You're grasping at straws, or just stare doubtfully. Anything could work. Anything could help deflect her loaded observations. Instead he shifted his bag on his shoulder. "I'll see you Tuesday."

"Drive safe," Zoe called, turning back to her white board. Arthur felt his phone buzz as he walked out the door.

 _Should I text you the address or just be impressed and mildly creeped out when you show up? XOXOXO –E_

If Arthur then dialed Eames' number for his two and a half hour car drive, it was to berate his excessive XOs. Nothing more. Even if Arthur's glance to the review mirror revealed an unconscious smile as soon as Eames answered the phone with elaborate astonishment and at least three darlings.

"Miss me already?" Eames asked cheekily.

Arthur rolled his eyes, allowing a wide grin now that he was in the safety of his car. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Mr. Eames."


End file.
